poem

I hope to record my poems so I figure to put down some thoughts now while I still have rare moments of lucidity. This poem comes from those frequent mornings when my body creaks and my knees ache and I am reminded of all those years of hard physical labor.

World of Lepers

Who writes about lepers?
Only those who wake up less whole
Lepers check the morning bed
For what fell off in the night
They gather hair from the pillows
And give passionate eulogies for each white strand
You will be missed my thin albino friends, you will be missed
Then sitting on the edge of the bed
While my feet rest on the lost years crumpled on the floor
My hand feels three hearts-my three hopes
Still there
There still
Always,always always